


Empty

by jhoono



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Brotherly Affection, Gen, Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, Kankri's POV, Other, POV Second Person, Suicide Attempt, mild disassociation, rocky relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5175980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoono/pseuds/jhoono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kankri's just trying to pass on without incident. Karkat has other plans.</p>
<p>Who knew not dying could be so hard?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> honestly only read this if you don't give a shit about kankri's characterization. or characterization in general. it's not supposed to be read as incestuous but? interpret it however??

It's not often that you're relieved to be home. Hell, it's not often that you feel relief period, since your life seems to be one big 'fuck you' after the other, and in spite of your even-voiced attempts to keep your problems at bay, perhaps get a little recognition, _glue together the pieces of your life that have gotten shattered beyond repair_ , it does nothing to ease the weight on your shoulders. You're sick and tired of trying, of struggling and striving and _fighting_ to get something worthwhile in your life.

You're sick and tired of life in the first place.

You've already made your plans, typed and printed them with black ink (your printer didn't have enough color for you to do your symbolic 'blood red' style). The note, of course, has been placed carefully on the kitchen counter. You timed this all so that your body would still be relatively fresh by the time your father went into the kitchen to get his cup of coffee. Shockingly (and what a shock this is), the note is brief by your standards.

_I'm sorry that this had to be how things happened, but I feel that it's reasonable to commit this act. After months of deliberation, I've come to the conclusion that my life isn't substantial enough for me to continue as I have for the past few years, and that there's no chance of anything improving in the future for me._

_I would rather not have a funeral - it'd be more depressing than it's worth and I'm well aware of our family's financial strain. I have an organ donor card in my wallet which you will find in my right front jeans pocket. Please contact the number on the aforementioned card as soon as possible. If it's possible, I would like for whatever is left of my body to be donated for the sake of scientific research. I did not take any substances prior to this. I've been fasting for the past two days, excluding water. I have an O negative blood type._

_I'd like my possessions to be sold, and for the proceeds to be donated to a list of charities I've got noted on my computer. Heed the instructions there. My social life is, unfortunately, too lacking for me to bother with writing anyone into my 'will'. I suppose that people will come and take what they want from my room anyways, but whatever may be left after the figurative bones of my room are picked clean should be sold._

_I have to issue an apology to my family, and to my teachers. I understand this may possibly be distressing for you for a short period of time. I have all of the assignments up until next month completed, and though my grade point average isn't especially important anymore, I still want it to be known that I have always been careful to participate in academics. There won't be any future for me but I didn't feel comfortable leaving with nothing._

_Now that the intentionally brief apology and message has been delivered, I'm going to finally do what I've been meaning to get around to for quite some time._

_Sincerely, Kankri Vantas._

You aren't even choking up by this point. If anything, you're the opposite of teary-eyed. You feel dry, worn down and down again to a husk of a straight-A student, a cold, hard object with no past, present, or future. You feel empty, only dully acknowledging the fact that your fingers are working to tie the knot you've been perfecting for months, at first as a passing curiosity but eventually as an obsession. 

You only need muscle-memory to complete it, tying it with care to the hook you'd installed in the ceiling only a week or two ago for this exact purpose. You give the rope a hard yank to make sure it's sturdy before looping it around your neck, balancing on your wheeled office chair. Maybe if you kick it the right way, it'll end up back under your desk so it'll look like this was how you always were, how you were always meant to-

_"KANKRI!"_

You're shocked out of your dreamlike haze when your door is slammed open, and you're greeted by none other than your younger brother, whose eyes are tired and bloodshot from sleep deprivation (hadn't you told him recently to sleep more, only to receive a dark glare and a few choice expletives muttered under his breath?). 

You barely process that they're also glassy with tears, though you most certainly do process the fact that he's storming towards you, and for a good few seconds you believe he's going to grab the chair and yank it away for you, do you a favor and a favor to everyone who ever had to tolerate you, and you don't know why the fact that you won't be allowed control of even your own _death_ makes it all hurt that much more but it _does,_ it does more than anything.

Surprisingly, though, he doesn't end up assisting your suicide. No, he does the complete opposite, standing on the chair with you in spite of the additional weight threatening to topple one or both of you over. The noose is removed from around your neck, and you're almost tugged to the ground, your body reacting to stay upright as your feet touch the floor in spite of your mind floating elsewhere, not present enough to process what's transpired.

You don't even have the energy to flinch or shove Karkat away as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and crying, crying silently into your chest. You can hear a crumple of paper. He must be holding your note, the note you'd spent time and effort writing and printing, and how _dare_ he have such little respect for something so significant, the last thing other than your own flesh and bone tethering you to this earth.

You recognize, a bit belatedly, that he's been talking all this time. You blink once, twice, forcing your breaths in, out, in again as you try to process what he's saying.

"...you even fucking listening to me right now?"

Well, so much for coming down long enough to understand what he was trying to convey to you. You can guess, of course, because you're well aware of how people typically respond when faced with the near-death of, well, not of a _loved one_ , that would imply that you were in some way _loved_ by anyone or anything, but at least of a long-time acquaintance.

_I'm sorry, I love you, you have so much to live for, even if you don't know it yet._

If that isn't the most trite bullshit you've ever heard spill from the lips of someone who only wants you alive for the sake of having you not be dead.

You can only find it in yourself to shush him, your face hard. "I'm sorry," you say almost coldly before stepping back, the back of your knees brushing against the back of your office chair, the office chair you could have had pushed aside by the time he came in if you'd been just _a little quicker_.

"Sorry? That's all you can fucking say?!" he screams, and you wonder for a moment why he's not yet roused your father, before you remember that he'd left on 'business' earlier that day. Why had you forgotten that when you put your note on the table? If you'd died and your organs became unusable before Karkat woke up...

Oh.

Speaking of Karkat, you're supposed to be replying to his question, aren't you.

"I'm sorry," is all you say, simply a filler in the conversation so you can go back to considering this sizeable flaw with your plan.

"Kankri, you haven't said anything except 'I'm sorry' for the past five minutes!" he shouts, loudly enough to jar you for the time being out of your reverie.

"I hadn't noticed. I apologize," you say, because you just want him to leave now. He has no problem with abandoning you usually, why is now an exception?

"Synonyms don't count, fuckmunch," Karkat says, arms crossing over his chest.

"Please do leave me alone," you say, replacing your chair in its rightful place under your desk.

Karkat gives you this look, this _look_ like he's finally uncovered your secret. Like you had a secret to uncover in the first place.

"It's because of what I said, isn't it," Karkat says with this flat tone, so flat that for a moment you forget who was talking in the first place.

"No, Karkat. This wasn't your fault." Muscle memory fills in where your mind cannot, forcing words of consolation towards your brother. "It's a bit ironic that I'm comforting you in spite of who had the noose around his neck moments prior to this," your mind offers in addition, body overenthusiastic to cooperate and relay the message to your brother in spite of the fact that you wouldn't usually say something so rude (aloud).

You realize a bit late that that probably wasn't the ideal thing to say. Well, maybe you don't want ideal. Maybe you want to repulse him enough that he can go back to sleep, go back to pretending like you're a waste of space. You can't try again tonight, of course, but maybe next time your father is home you can. Or you could contact the authorities before you...

"You haven't eaten anything in two days," he huffs. Just what did that have to do with the fact that he wasn't leaving you alone?

"No, I haven't. I admittedly haven't spent a lot of time doing research on the process of organ donation, but I've read from numerous sources that if your stomach and/or large intestine is full during the time of your death your body will move to expel-"

He puts a hand over your mouth. "Come on. Let's go into the kitchen."

You're shocked more than anything at his sudden, well, not _kindness_ , but the closest equivalent you've gotten in years.

He grabs your wrist when you don't follow soon enough, half-yanking you into the kitchen and seating you at the counter. "What do you want to eat?" Karkat asks, voice taut.

"I'm not hungry, thank you. I understand your sudden concern for my wellbeing, but it's absolutely unnecessary. There's no need to panic, Karkat, that much I can assure you," you say, torn between pushing yourself up and just waiting for him to leave.

"We still have that leftover pizza from the other night when you were too tired to cook." It's like he isn't listening to you, really, and you're relieved about that. You know you have a habit to talk _at_ people rather than _with_ them, and it's strangely reassuring to receive the same treatment for once. The microwave beeps before you know it, and a plate with two spongy pizza slices is set before you.

"Eat," Karkat says, gesturing towards the food. You open your mouth to protest at first, but decide that it isn't worth the effort. You can't handle an argument right now.

Lifting the slice to your mouth, you almost cringe in anticipation. It turns out that not eating for such a long period of time can make your body reluctant to get back to it. The first few bites are hard to get through, like you're swallowing cardboard in front of your brother as some sort of sick type of entertainment. He pours a glass of water for you and you drink it gratefully. The pizza is a bit more palatable after that, though you still feel a heaviness in your chest.

It's not until you're halfway through the second slice of pizza that you start to cry. You can't control the tears, struggling to swallow as you choke on your own sobs. Karkat doesn't say anything as he starts to rub consoling circles into your back, though he draws his hand away for a moment when you flinch from the contact. You're not sure what to feel anymore, grateful, angry, tired, miserable...

You don't feel empty, you realize. You're anything _but_ empty right now, drowning in your emotions, and scared, _scared_ to feel so much, so _hard_. You're crying even when you finish eating, even when Karkat pours you another glass of water and you almost drop it as you drink, and you feel just a little ridiculous because the last time Karkat showed anything to you at all aside from indifference, or anger, or on occasion a fleeting bit of professionalism to get something from you...

He was the one sobbing into his water glass, shaking like a child. No, he _was_ a child, only twelve years old and still waking up from nightmares, and he needed someone to comfort him, to tell him he was safe. You were there, you held him and even let him sleep in your bed in spite of his complaints the next day about how weird and gay it was to sleep in the bed with another man, brother or no.

You'd craved it, craved the feeling of being needed, if only for a moment. For weeks after that, you laid awake in bed, feeling guilty for wishing that your brother had another nightmare, but... he never did.

You became useless again.

Now, though, he's easing you off of the chair, guiding you into his room. You look around. The area is familiar, just like how it always is when you come to Karkat's door with a plate of food in your hand and he makes a grunt which you wish so _desperately_ could count as thanks. You almost want to clean it, but before that thought can manifest itself into a plan he's shoved you onto his bed, crawling on top of you and pinning you with his weight.

You struggle. You have an inch or two on him, sure, but you haven't eaten in two days save for your forced meal and your protests and attempts at retaliation are weak. Soon, you just give up, laying on your back with your chest heaving from the pitifully one-sided quarrel. You turn your head away from your brother's, eyes forced shut as you wait silently for him to hit you.

Of course he's going to hit you. The last time he did was when he was just a child, barely seven years old. But you know that it's bound to happen now. You cringe in anticipation for the blow.

It doesn't come. He just keeps you there, straddling your thighs with his hands pinning yours to the sides of your head. Your heartbeat slows though you are anything _but_ relaxed.

"What the fuck were you thinking, asshole?!" Karkat quite eloquently states.

"Please let me go, Karkat. I hope you do realize the meanings behind this physical position, symbolically, have astoundingly negative connota-"

A sweaty hand is smacked over your mouth and you squirm away to the best of your ability, though it's not enough. Even licking the appendage proves fruitless.

"You're going to answer my question. What. Were. You. _Thinking,"_ he snarls, and you let out a sigh of relief when Karkat's hand is removed. This hasn't been the best night in the world.

"What?" he asks. Did you say that aloud?

"I said that this hasn't been the best night in the world."

"No shit, Sherlock. Typically, good nights end with you _not_ standing on a chair with a fucking noose around your neck."

"Actually, that was the highlight. It went downhill when you came in, no offense."

Karkat opens his mouth to speak, closes it, thinks for a moment, and finally opens it again. "You still haven't answered my question, you know."

"I explained everything I needed to in my note, I think," you say, still bitter about Karkat's treatment of it.

"That note was shit and we both know it. I want you to talk."

Just that alone is enough to push a small laugh out of you, a bitter "heh" that isn't even close to a sign of actual humor.

Karkat wets his lips, shifting on top of you. Finally, after quite some deliberation, he sighs, "I'm sorry. I know that sorry's not enough, but it's what I can give right now. You look exhausted, Kankri, why don't you sleep?"

That makes you "laugh" again, cold and empty. "I'm not going to be making any more attempts tonight, of that I can assure you."

"Promise you'll live." Karkat's expression is intent.

"I have no reason to. Besides that, you're showing a certain amount of insensitivity towards those who died for reasons entirely outside of their control, and it's a bit presumptuous of you to come to the conclusion that I'm completely invulnerable to fatal accidents myself-"

"You know what I fucking mean, Kankri! Fuck, don't go out looking for fatal accidents, is what I'm trying to say. Promise me you won't."

"Didn't I already say that I have no reason to promise you anything?" you snap, voice rough.

"...I deserve that. I deserve a lot of things for not being there for you. I didn't realize how much it would fuck you up, and I just figured you didn't want to deal with my whiny horseshit anyways, and here I am flinging it full force at you with a fucking trowel and making it about me but you're not _giving me anything here_ and- and just because I'm a piece of shit brother doesn't mean you should be punishing yourself over this," he forces out, eyes red-rimmed with tears.

"I didn't do this because of you. Please don't blame yourself. There were many components to my decision, and your neglect didn't sway me much." It's a lie. You think he knows, too.

"Remember when I was a kid and you'd always look under my bed for monsters even though you told me again and again that they aren't real?" Karkat all but whispers.

"How could I forget? You made me stay up late every night just to make sure."

"I just wanna say thanks. Thanks for playing along with my shit and helping me sleep."

That floors you. You want to cry again; you can already feel the tears accumulating in the corners of your eyes and you can't accept this, this isn't all right, you wish he hadn't come in and ruined your suicide and started to wrap his arms around you and it's warm and-

What were you trying to say?

He's rolled off of you, now, embracing you around your middle from behind you. You're loath to admit it, but his arms are pleasantly warm, even through the fabric of your heavy sweater from an old friend who moved away at the end of middle school. You feel almost... safe.

"I won't tell Dad anything if you get rid of the hook in your room," Karkat says, and that makes you feel warm on the inside, too, even though it probably shouldn't.

"Thank you. I would like to avoid the theatrics," you hum, curling in a little.

Karkat throws his quilt over the both of you, and despite the chirping outside which would indicate it being morning, you close your eyes and feel yourself drift asleep nigh instantaneously.

At least he thanked you.

**Author's Note:**

> promise this isn't a ventfic, just flexing angst muscles. turns out they're Pretty Weak.


End file.
